


Slow Shutter Speed (To Capture Every Imperfection)

by Bulletproof_BoyScouts



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Romance, Yuuri is tired of Phichit's shit, enjoy the sin anyway, this was a mistake, why did i start this i literally have another fic that i havent finished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 20:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8860513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bulletproof_BoyScouts/pseuds/Bulletproof_BoyScouts
Summary: Katsuki Yuuri, a world famous photographer who hides away in a little studio in Tokyo, finds that maybe fashion photography isn't so bad. Not when you have the brightest smile in the whole of Japan (and Russia) shining at you through the lens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This won't have many chapters, I don't think. It was supposed to be a very short, wintry fic, but instead I went all out. I am yet to write the second half as of posting this, but I like to think it will be enjoyable nonetheless!

As a photographer, Yuuri found himself hiding from the world.

He would spend hours behind the camera, snapping shot after shot as he wandered around various cities when he wasn’t cooped up in his studio with some model. He lived for it, really he did! He loved the various clicks the shutter made when he took photos, the brightness of his lightboxes, the natural charm of the beautiful models who posed for him.

He wasn’t afraid to admit that he was a people photographer. There was a certain beauty that one could find in a well taken photograph of a person that just couldn’t be seen in photos void of life like that. The way their toothy grins could be captured mid-laugh, that so called ‘decisive moment’ that Cartier-Bresson talked so much about, it thrilled him to the core. The tears, the distress, the rawest of human emotion that could be immortalised by the complicated device in his hands shocked him sometimes.

Being a photographer really was a thankless job, but Katsuki Yuuri adored it.

That is to say, he adored it until he found himself stuck with a difficult client who refused to even look at him.

“Come on, brat!” the older gentleman standing behind Yuuri, watching the shoot, yelled. “Just look at the camera and we can be out of here in ten minutes!”

“It’ll take a lot longer than ten minutes to finish a shoot, old man,” Yuuri whispered to himself, only sending a pleasant smile at the man when he grunted as if to ask ‘what was that?’ when Yuuri’s almost silent remark reached him.

“No way, I don’t care,” the child replied, firmly crossing his arms and turning his head away from Yuuri, who still captured a few shoots anyway. He could add it to his ever evolving project about people that still lacked a firm direction. He’d find one soon.

"How are you ever going to become a world famous model and make use of that face if you don’t even look at the photographer when he’s trying to take a picture of you!”

“I don’t even want to be a model! I want to be an ice-skater! Are you stupid?” the boy yelled, flinging his arms up and making to storm out.

“Don’t you dare-”

Yuuri cut him off with a small smile and a shake of the head, saying, “Let him go, when one has their heart set on modelling it comes as easily as breathing. He could be a wonderful model, I can tell, but you need to give him time. Call me when he decides he actually wants this.”

“But-” the man tried, cutting himself off at the sight of Yuuri moving to his desk. “Fine, but I’ll be back with a model soon. Don’t go booking yourself solid.”

“Wonderful, I look forward to it,” Yuuri replied with a smile, jotting down _Feltsman, model. Don’t forget! ^-^_ on a sticky note that he stuck on a board next to him with about thirty other little notes all with the same swirly writing.

It was with a grunt that the man left and Yuuri revelled in the near silence of the studio. The only sounds came from the cars rushing past a few storeys down and the faint hum of the lights, and it was a great comfort to him. He had about an hour until his next client was due to arrive; they were some family who had insisted on badgering him incessantly to get him to lower the fee, but he wouldn’t accept it. He honestly probably shouldn’t have accepted them as clients, but a good reputation was crucial in the photography world and they had begrudgingly accepted his higher-than-average fees.

They weren’t higher than average for no good reason however. No, he had already had his photographs featured in several exhibitions and worked with some of the world’s most famous models such as Christophe Giacometti (that was always a slightly uncomfortable experience) and the Crispino twins (although Michele had been a bit unapproachable when Sara had come out in her slightly risque ensemble). He had photographed many of sports most prominent athletes and fashions greatest models and he was only getting better. He was known for the unadulterated passion and soul he poured into each photograph, making them emotional masterpieces that only improved as he mastered his camera. That being said, he still took on many clients, such as the family, who weren’t mega rich and famous; it was good for business and also it contributed to his ongoing research.

Sadly, the silence that he so revered was soon broken by the wails of an upset child and the snappy words of a mother who was at the end of her tether. Looks like he had a long day ahead of him.

…

“Christmas? Already?” Yuuri asked his phone. On the screen was a reproduction of Phichit’s face grinning at him, jerking around every once in a while.

Phichit laughed before replying, “Yes, I can’t believe you forgot again. You should get out of the studio more. Come and take pictures outside for once.”

“But the lighting-” Yuuri tried to argue, knowing full well that the natural light he could find outside was always preferred over the artificial light from his lightboxes.

“Nope!” Phichit interrupted, wiggling his finger (well Yuuri assumed he was, at the moment the screen had frozen on Phichit’s face in the middle of speaking and a finger half raised). “I’m going to be flying back over soon and I expect you to show me around the big city!”

“I was going to go back home for Christmas though,” Yuuri said meekly, knowing he wouldn’t be able to escape Phichit no matter how hard he tried. “I don’t know how my mother would feel if you of all people turned up.”

“That was cheeky,” Phichit said before calling louder, “Hey! Yuuri’s been really cheeky recently. Yeah, I know! Honestly.” Yuuri could vaguely hear someone answering off screen, but he could only guess who Phichit was talking to. “Anyway, I’m going to be getting the plane to Tokyo tomorrow so I expect you at the airport to pick me up!”

“What? That’s too soon! Phichit-” Yuuri was cut off as the call ended, leaving him staring at one of Phichit’s stupid selfies with a gaping mouth. That boy was too much.

Yuuri frowned as he put his phone down on the desk and looked over the studio.

He had taken to holing himself up here since he started renting it no more than two years ago. It wasn’t big by any means, it was a bit of an awkward fit when a model arrived with their entire hair and makeup team and also their manager and anyone else that decided to tag along. He had decided to turn his old study into a dressing room when there had been complaints about the lack of privacy and seeing as it lead off the main room it made sense. This of course meant that he had to move his desk into the main studio so he didn’t get much privacy in terms of what he could keep open on his browser. Sometimes references could take you to dark places.

Regardless, he loved his studio. The boxes of extra props that he had acquired stacked precariously against the wall; the piles of random, maybe broken, photography equipment that he sometimes tried to clear away; the shelves with all of his favourite gear locked away behind reinforced glass. One could never be too careful with professional grade equipment.

His very favourite thing, however, was most definitely his prints.

Over the past ten years, since he had first taken an interest in the subject after he got his first camera at the age of fourteen, he had collected and bought as many prints as he could. Most of his most prized ones were hung up in his living room or bedroom, but he was infinitely inspired by the photographs he had on his walls. His own work was up there too, from his first ever vaguely large scale print – a photo of his whole family having dinner when he snapped a particularly funny picture that now warmed his heart when he looked at it – to his latest work with the very young and impressionable Ji Guang Hong, who used his innocent charm to lure the viewer into a sense of peace when seeing his wide doe-like eyes and soft blush as he glances over his shoulder.

Yes, Yuuri enjoyed photography very much.

For now, however he would have to go home and get ready for the oncoming storm of selfies and too much laughter most like to call Phichit.

* * *

“Yuuri!”

There he was, waving his arm frantically over the sea of people so that Yuuri could see him. Yuuri responded with a quick wave of his own before putting on a little pout as Phichit finally reached him.

“Did you miss me?” Phichit asked as he dragged Yuuri into a hug. “I bet you did! We have so much to catch up on!”

“R-right,” Yuuri agreed, pushing at Phichit’s torso, “but first please get off me. This isn’t the place for this sort of thing.”

“I forgot you Japanese don’t enjoy public affection as much as I do,” he said with a sigh, releasing Yuuri from his enthusiastic grip. “Anyway, let’s go home, Yuuri. I’m tired.”

“Of course you are,” Yuuri replied with a half-hearted roll of the eyes, a small grin betraying his seriousness.

They made it home in record time considering the usual situation with public transport in general, but today was especially good and by the time they were settled on the sofa, each with a tea, they were back into the usual push and pull of their relationship.

“So, I hear you’re slowing a bit. Not as many big commissions?” Phichit asked, blowing the tea gently.

“It’s not that,” Yuuri said with a head shake. “I just wanted to take a bit of a break for the holidays. I’ll probably have one or two more big shoots before I go back to Hasetsu, I’m just struggling to decide who to accept.”

“Eh, just pick two random ones of a list,” Phichit said, waving his hand in a lazy gesture. “Who cares how much they’ll pay; it’s not like you’re poor or anything.”

“It’s not that either… Some people are just,” Yuuri took a breath, “stressful.”

Phichit hummed at that, closing his eyes as he sipped the tea. He seemed to be thinking very hard about this.

“Which ones are the most exciting then? There’s got to be some that have caught your attention more than others. Like, I’m not trying to be rude, but surely it gets a bit boring photographing models for makeup lines and stuff. They all look the same in the end.”

Yuuri frowned before he replied, “I guess you’re right. There was one or two that stood out.”

“Easy, pick those and stop worrying about it! We have so much to catch up on!”

“You were literally here a few weeks ago,” Yuuri said, his face deadpanned with only a quirk in his eyebrow deceiving him.

“Hey, a lot can happen in a few weeks, Katsuki!”

With that the tense atmosphere that had been slowly building as Yuuri let his anxieties loose dispersed. They were back into the comforting rhythm of a friendship formed by the persistent attempts on Phichit’s side and the reluctant (at first) reciprocations of Yuuri. Being friends with someone for as long as Yuuri and Phichit tended to blur some lines between friendship and family of course.

Yuuri ended up accepting those commissions in the end, one of the same Guang Hong as before and another for Feltsman. He claimed to have found the so called ‘perfect model’, but that’s what he said about the angry brat from last time, so Yuuri was cautious. They were both booked for the next week or so and were both flying from their respective countries especially, which gave Yuuri plenty of time over the weekend to go shopping with Phichit and show him around Tokyo, which he revelled in, taking way too many pictures of Yuuri eating. Yuuri got his revenge with his far better quality camera, taking some super high definition shots of Phichit talking and sneezing.

Of course, the weekend passed by in a flash, one slightly drunken Saturday leaving behind only a headache and a few blurry pictures of what might have been a shirtless Yuuri, but no one could really tell (or so Yuuri hoped). They had more than caught up in that weekend and Phichit had begged Yuuri to let him come with him to the studio on the Tuesday when Guang Hong was supposed to be there.

Yuuri had begrudgingly accepted because who leaves their best friend alone in their house? Certainly not Yuuri, he wanted food to eat that night after all.

When they arrived Yuuri went straight to work, occasionally indulging Phichit and explaining a piece of equipment, but mostly setting up for the spring themed shoot they would be doing that day. This shoot was in preparation for a new clothing or makeup line that was launching somewhere overseas, Yuuri couldn’t quite remember, but it didn’t matter. The model’s manager would make sure the outfits were here and their makeup team would deal with that aspect. All Yuuri was here to do was pour his heart and soul into each click of the camera and produce the astounding and emotionally charged photographs he was so admired for.

“Wow, they’re taking ages to get here. Isn’t it rude to be late to your own shoot?” Phichit asked after Yuuri had been setting up for an hour.

“They’re not late, they don’t arrive for another hour yet,” Yuuri answered, ladder creaking ominously as he adjusted a light. “We need to be here early to make sure all the equipment is working.”

“Don’t you have, like, an assistant? Wouldn’t it be done quicker if you have someone else to help you?” Phichit asked again, lounging at Yuuri’s desk and swinging himself from side to side in the spinning chair.

“I did at one point, but she left. Apparently fixing everything that your assistant does isn’t the way to go about keeping someone around.”

“What did you do that for?”

“In all honesty, I only got an assistant because my mother got worried about my health from running this tiny studio alone. It was easier to say she quit,” Yuuri sighed after a few moments of silence. He was incredibly particular about his equipment and if any of it wasn’t up to his standards then he couldn’t use it. What if it broke in the middle of him using it? What if it ruined his pictures? He couldn’t have that. He was a renowned photographer at the age of twenty-four and he didn’t get this far by being careless with his gear.

“I see, well how much longer are you going to be? I’m getting bored of staring at the same white backdrop,” Phichit mock-whined, leaning back dramatically in the chair.

“There’s an entire wall of prints behind you!” Yuuri said with a laugh, turning back to focus on adjusting the light, moving on to the next one when he was sure it was all set; it would need replacing soon, it was slowly dimming over time, Yuuri noticed. It was probably being worn from the brutal and continuous use, it was his favourite after all.

“Whatever, just hurry up!”

True to Yuuri’s estimate, Guang Hong arrived an hour later with his manager and a makeup team in tow. He bowed respectfully to the two, introducing himself to Phichit, who was enthusiastic in his return of the greeting, before stepping to the side and waiting to be directed around. The manager wasted no time in shooing him and the makeup team off to the dressing room with a rack of outfits in fancy covers.

When Guang Hong came out he was all made up in a soft, neutral makeup look, gauzy fabrics draped all over him and pinned to a plain white shirt underneath. He looked ethereal with his messy hair and soft glow, but there was no time to sit admiring the young boy. They got straight to work.

“Lower your head,” Yuuri instructed, humming softly when Guang Hong did exactly what he wanted and snapped ten or so shots before instructing him to look elsewhere. They had gone over a very detailed plan of what they wanted from this shoot and it was over in two hours, Guang Hong politely saying goodbye before the whole team left. The manager only stayed to confirm some business things that Phichit definitely didn’t care about as he whipped out his phone and did a shoot himself with his phone and a lot of peace signs.

Once the room was quiet again, save the sound of Phichit’s fake phone shutter, Yuuri was immediately making several copies of the shoot on two external hard drives, his studio computer and his laptop. When Phichit asked why he was going so overboard (again, he asked every time) he only got the look of someone who had made the mistake of not having backups before.

“So, that’s one down, right?” Phichit started, dragging the chair from the back of the studio, where Yuuri usually talks to his clients, over to the desk. “One more to go and then back to Hasetsu!”

“Yep, I need to sort through these and edit them though,” Yuuri replied, squinting somewhat as he flicked through the photos. “That’ll take a few days, to get through them all, I expect.”

“Sometimes I think you love photography more than you love me,” Phichit whined with a pout.

“Me too.”

“That’s mean!”

* * *

“Don’t mess this up, kid.”

“I’m hardly a child anymore.”

“You’re younger than me!”

“That’s not hard…”

“Oi!”

* * *

“This is your final shoot before Christmas, Yuuri!” Phichit cheered, pretending to throw confetti over Yuuri as he set up. “Then we can go home finally!”

“Oh, joy,” Yuuri said as unenthusiastically as he could.

“Seriously, when did you get so mean?”

“I’m not mean, you’re just sensitive,” Yuuri shot, a snicker coming out when he spotted Phichit’s betrayed look.

“Sensitive? Me? Who was the one that cried because his idol wouldn’t even look his way? I can remember it now.” Phichit looked as if he was imagining the air around him giving way to comically old looking footage of a young Yuuri crying into Phichit’s arms. “‘Oh, Phichit! He didn’t glance at me! I can’t believe the all-powerful Viktor Nikiforov wouldn’t grace me with his gaze as he passed me by in a crowded airport that one time!’”

“L-listen! I don’t care about him anymore! I’m way over ice-skating anyway.” Yuuri was flushed all the way to his toes, he could feel it as he leaped at Phichit, who danced out of his way.

“Only after you fell over and broke your arm that one time and your mother wouldn’t let you go back until it healed fully!” Phichit cried, trying to fight his way out of Yuuri’s hold when he was finally caught and Yuuri started tickling all over his soft belly. “You gave up too young!”

“I had more important things to do! Like pursue my successful career in photography!”

By now there were tears running down the sides of Phichit’s face as Yuuri straddled him and attacked his sides. They were having the time of their lives until there was a sharp rapping at the door, Yuuri’s head shooting up to stare at it. He was a mess and his next client had arrived.

He was frantically trying to straighten his clothes and comb his hair back with his hands, glasses left somewhere around Phichit, who was still sitting on the floor as he opened the door.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting! Please, come in-” Yuuri started frantically, trying to get all of his words out before he rose from the deep bow. When he did finally stand up again, however he was faced with the one person in the world he would have slammed the door in the face of had Feltsman not been standing in front of him.

Viktor Nikiforov, in the flesh.

He was standing right there, towering over Yuuri and smiling softly. He looked as perfect as Yuuri remembered, all soft lines and droopy smiles, but his hair was short now, not the long locks that seemed to shimmer as he moved. Of course, anyone that you admired for several years would look perfect at first sight. There were a few very feint wrinkles around his eyes from smiling and his hair was far less tamed than it usually looked on television, but those were minute details compared to the rest of his face. Yuuri was probably going to go into shock, and he might have done had Phichit not come up behind him and handed him his glasses.

“Hey! It’s nice to meet you!” Phichit introduced, bowing also. “I’m Phichit, Yuuri’s helper for the week.”

Viktor whispered something to Feltsman, who nodded and moved to the side slightly so that Viktor could stand in the door too before saying, “Hello, I’m Viktor! I’m here for a photoshoot I hear, although Yakov isn’t good at telling me where I’m going until I get there.”

“Don’t be rude!” Yakov barked, reaching up and smacking Viktor’s shoulder lightly. “This will hopefully be your photographer as long as you don’t get ugly.”

“Ah, yes! I’m Katsuki Yuuri,” Yuuri said, giving another bow and running his hand through his hair nervously. It probably looked really stupid now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care and he perched his glasses back on his nose. He was far too nervous about who was standing before him. “I was told Mr Feltsman had another ‘brilliant’ model, I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“Another? You didn’t try bringing Georgi here, did you? I can’t imagine needing me after him, he must be a natural!” Viktor cried, grabbing Yuuri’s shoulder and staring him directly in the eye. It was intimidating and Yuuri broke the eye contact after a few seconds.

“No, it was an angry child who goes by the name of Yuri,” Yuuri supplied when Feltsman looked about ready to expire on the spot.

“Yuri? Why would he ever agree to this? Yakov, you’re so funny sometimes! Yuri is an ice-skater at the same rink as me! Yakov is both of our coaches, but why he’s trying to get Yuri into modelling, I don’t know. For that matter, why am I going into modelling, Yakov?” Viktor’s mouth didn’t stop moving, the constant stream of words hardly leaving space for a nod or shake of the head at each question.

“It’s just something extra, do you want to get on with this or not?” Yakov demanded, cutting Viktor off with a push into the studio. “You go and do whatever you do.”

“Okay?”

Viktor looked so genuinely confused as he was shoved in past Yuuri that he couldn’t help but take pity on him. As soon as he had finished ogling the lights, Yuuri lead Viktor over to the dressing room.

“Well, you don’t have a team and I assume you don’t know why you’re here or what kind of shot we’ll be doing,” Yuuri started, slipping into his professional mode. “As that’s the case, you can go in the dressing room and I will bring some of the clothes I have left over from some of Giacometti’s shoots. They should fit you just fine.”

In reality, this was the only way Yuuri could deal with the current situation. Sure, his old idol was right there; sure, he looked kind of messed up when his idol first saw him; and sure, his idol was only here for a shoot like many other people Yuuri admires. There was no difference here. He should treat him exactly how he treats everyone else who comes in for a shoot. That is to say, he will distance himself and act like the unwavering professional he is. He won’t let his anxiety show just because its Viktor Nikiforov.

He quickly snatches some of the wintrier themed outfits from Christophe’s ‘pile’ as Yuuri called it. It was basically where he dumped the inevitable outfits that Christophe would leave all over the dressing room, claiming it would be part of his payment. It never was and it was only an inconvenience until now.

“Viktor, I have some outfits for you,” Yuuri called as he knocked. He glanced behind to see Phichit shrinking away from Feltsman as he furiously tapped at his phone, Yakov only staring at the prints on the wall.

“Yuuri! Thank you,” Viktor said once his arms were loaded with clothes. “So, I just choose what I want to wear and then come out?”

“Yes, I’ll be waiting to begin as soon as you’re ready,” Yuuri replied, bowing before Viktor knocked the door shut with his hip.

Yuuri let out a huge breath when the door clicked into place, slumping slightly from his rigid posture and half dragging himself to the desk. This was too much for him, he didn’t know if he could keep this up without tumbling back into his idolisation and falling for Viktor all over again. No, his skating. Yes, Yuuri fell in love with Viktor’s skating and he was just another athlete that he would be photographing and then he would go home again. That was it.

“I’m done!”

Yuuri kind of wanted to fling himself out of the window.

There, in all his glory, stood Viktor Nikiforov, world renowned ice-skater and five times consecutive gold medallist wearing the ugliest Christmas jumper that even dared show up in Japan. It was horrible and ugly and Yuuri might be falling for him again.

“How does it look? Is it too far?” Viktor asked nervously, tugging at the hem of the jumper.

“N-no, it’s just fine!” Yuuri cried, scrambling to get up and grab his camera. At least with the camera in front of his face he could somewhat hide the glowing blush spreading across his face. “Please, stand against the backdrop and we can start.”

Viktor was all too happy to bounce over to the white section of the room, immediately posing like he did when he won a medal; that is to say, all smiles with one hand lifted as if he were holding an invisible award. This wasn’t at all what Yuuri wanted from Viktor, it was far too generic, but he took some pictures anyway. He might as well encourage him instead of telling him everything was wrong. (There was also the fact that he was too nervous to tell him that what he was doing was wrong. God, it was almost like he was sixteen again and doing his first properly directed shoot.)

They eventually cycled through all of the generic poses, Yuuri softly calling out adjustments, camera constantly clicking as he took photo after photo. It was incredibly boring to Yuuri in terms of the routine of it all, but Viktor looked like he was having the time of his life and that in itself made the whole experience something that Yuuri would do a million times just to see his smile when Yuuri hummed happily at a particularly pleasing pose.

“Are you nearly done?” Feltsman called eventually, seemingly bored watching the two.

“Huh?” Yuuri made a confused sound, glancing to check the clock on the wall and blushing even more furiously than he did when Viktor made a particularly smouldering look light up his eyes as he stared Yuuri down through the lens. “Oh, yes! I’m so sorry, I hadn’t noticed the time!” Now he was getting flustered and it frustrated him, he was a professional and he should be acting like one!

“We’re finished?” Viktor piped in, looking a bit disappointed.

“Well technically the time you booked in ran over about ten minutes ago, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Yuuri looking like a blushing bride,” Phichit chirped, snapping a picture of Yuuri just before Yuuri’s face dropped into one of horror and embarrassment. Yuuri could probably light up the whole of Japan with how bright he was getting, sputtering out gibberish and waving his arms around frantically.

“N-no! Phichit!” Yuuri tried, blush only getting deeper as it crept along his neck. “I-I was not blushing!”

“I mean, I’m not saying you definitely were,” Phichit conceded before a wicked grin found its way back on his face, “but you definitely were.”

“No!” Yuuri whined.

“It’s true!”

“Not to be a bother, but what should I do about these clothes?” a new voice suddenly joined, startling Yuuri out of his bickering with Phichit. This only served to make Yuuri even more flustered as Viktor approached carefully.

“Dressing room, please!” Yuuri squeaked out before he all but bolted for the door, camera still hanging around his neck.

“Is he okay?” Viktor asked Phichit, still staring bemusedly at the door Yuuri vanished behind.

“He’ll be fine, just give him a minute to calm down,” Phichit replied, nodding sagely as he sat behind Yuuri’s desk. “He gets flustered way too easily and it’s just too tempting to tease him sometimes.”

“In that case, I’ll just go over here…”

That was the last thing Yuuri saw before he closed the supply room door all the way, clicking it firmly into place. Phichit really knew which buttons to push and having Yuuri’s old idol certainly must have been a tempting button to push. Like one of those big red buttons that said ‘DO NOT PRESS’ but they were really shiny and even had flashing lights and tape. He probably was overreacting anyway… He probably even ruined all of his chances at having Viktor pose for him again. Who would want a photographer that ran away after some light-hearted teasing like that taking photos of them?

Yuuri was starting to sink into a pit of despair, pacing back and forth among the supplies stacked up on shelves, when there was a knock at the door. He stared at it for a minute before he finally went over and opened it to Phichit’s smiling face.

“Yuuri!” he chimed, pulling Yuuri out of the supply room. “Come out of the closet and sort out your client!”

“Oh, yes of course,” Yuuri said, starting to flush again when he saw Feltsman and Viktor standing by his desk and whispering about the prints.

“Sorry, by the way,” Phichit murmured in Yuuri’s ear. “He doesn’t hate you.”

Yuuri could only stare at Phichit as they broke away, finally standing in front of the two taller men again.

“I’m sorry for my actions,” Yuuri apologised, bowing deeply. “Please consider this session free for my poor behaviour.”

“Of c-”

“No, no! We couldn’t possibly take your time like that!” Viktor had cut Feltsman’s graceful acceptance with a wave of the hand. “We will pay and be back soon for another shoot, won’t we, Yakov?”

“Yes,” Feltsman conceded, grimacing. “We will most certainly be back.”

The atmosphere around Feltsman was tense, leaving Yuuri to skirt around him as the conducted the business side of things. It was only after Viktor was out of the studio, Feltsman in tow, that Yuuri finally relaxed.

“So,” Phichit began, “‘I don’t care about him anymore’, eh?”

“Phichit.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”


End file.
